Free Transmission: Voodoo Plague Book 5 by Dirk Patton Page B

quickly slithered down the side
of the backhoe, jumping the final two feet to the ground.  Bending, she wrapped
her arms around Dog’s torso and lifted as he scrabbled with his front paws,
trying to climb up the steel side of the machine.  She gave up after only a
couple of seconds.  Maybe John could have lifted Dog and carried him up to the
cab, but there was no way she could.
    A quick glance over her shoulder and she knew she had less
than 10 seconds.  Abandoning the backhoe, she dashed for the Mercedes, yelling
for Dog.  Arriving at the driver’s door, Rachel imagined she could hear the
heavy breathing of the razorbacks, and risked a backward glance.  They were
passing the grader and almost on her.  Dog was standing between her and the
swiftly approaching beasts, legs spread and head down with teeth showing, but
she knew he was way out of his weight class in that fight.
    Yanking the front door open she screamed for Dog who turned
and leapt into the car.  Rachel was right behind him, nearly slamming the door
on her leg in her haste to reach the safety of the interior.  Less than a
second after she closed the door, the lead razorback slammed into it, rocking
the entire vehicle.  Rachel screamed and Dog hopped into the back seat and
started barking at the window, frothy saliva flying onto the glass.
    The remaining three razorbacks were close behind, the car
continuing to shudder as they slammed into its sides.  They began slashing, the
wickedly sharp tusks making a horrible screeching sound on the sheet metal. 
When that didn’t work, they started circling the car, occasionally slamming a
shoulder or head into one of the doors.
    Rachel got Dog back into the front seat, finally calming him
to a degree with an arm circled around his neck.  He was taut as a bowstring
and primed for a fight, but she wasn’t about to let him out of the car.  As
fast and strong as he was, the razorbacks would gut him in an instant and stomp
him to death when he went down. 
    As she sat in the front seat, watching them continue to
circle, Rachel was reminded of old movies about sailors lost at sea with sharks
circling before attacking.  The build of the animals kept their heads lower
than their shoulders, and she was relieved to see that they weren’t trying to
break the glass.  The lead razorback was massive, his shoulders a good six
inches taller than the bottom of the side window.  He must have weighed close
to 400 pounds and was regularly slamming into the car, looking for a point of
weakness to exploit.
    Rachel leaned her head back against the leather headrest and
took a deep breath.  They seemed safe for the moment, but what the hell were
they going to do?  How long would the razorbacks keep trying to break in?  And
even if they left, what was she going to do?  They would still be around and
she didn’t think either her or dog would survive on foot for very long.
    She started going over ideas in her mind.  Thinking about
options.  Equipment available to her.  Anything that would either help them
escape, or kill the razorbacks.  There were no vehicles within sight that were
still functioning.  It was a safe assumption there were none to the east,
otherwise the men who had fixed and taken the Bronco would already have been
driving.  Had the tornados caused that much devastation?
    She had already searched the Mercedes for its keys, as had
the men, but out of desperation she started another search.  Slow and
methodical.  Even if she had checked a spot earlier, she looked again.  Looked
in spots that she knew were too small to hold even a single key, but not
willing to risk overlooking something.  After 15 minutes she hadn’t found them
and the hogs were still circling, still slamming into the doors nearly every
circuit.

12
     
    Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant Michael Tate cursed what he
suspected was the same fly for probably the two hundredth time. The pest was
about to start trying to crawl into his ear again,